


Of the nature of souls and love, iteration II

by ParadifeLoft



Category: The Silmarillion and other histories of Middle-Earth - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Multi, Noldorin Culture, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Philosophical Discussion, Polyamory, Re-embodiment in Valinor, Religious Discussion
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-09
Updated: 2018-12-09
Packaged: 2019-09-14 18:36:20
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 903
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16918161
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ParadifeLoft/pseuds/ParadifeLoft
Summary: People and relationships change over the centuries, and life moves on - an obvious truism, but not one Turgon finds reassuring in the face of the new partners Elenwe has come to value before he was reborn in Valinor. Idril, no stranger to unorthodox relationships herself, offers support in the form of her own perspectives, less steeped in pre-Darkening cultural anxieties.





	Of the nature of souls and love, iteration II

**Author's Note:**

> Why yes, I realise trying to explain the background setup for this hyper-contextual piece of short dialogue requires nearly matching the wordcount of the fic itself. So sue me :P
> 
> (...the "iteration I" implied by the title is me obliquely referencing the in-universe discussion on the Statute of Finwe and Miriel, by the way! Because that formed some of the inspiration for this piece, in a "if that's the case for Noldorin hyper-monogamy, what would an alternate viewpoint in favour of more open relationships look like?" sense.)

“Father.”

His Idril stands in the doorway, head inclined in a subtle request of permission to intrude upon his solitude. He accepts, of course - the process of healing, reflecting, rehousing, had brought him wisdom enough to accept that her presence had been an anchor, perhaps especially when he thought he did not want it. His habit of cloistering himself away, worsened in Beleriand, and now threatening to reassert itself once more with the renewed spectre of losing his wife…

“I want you to know first of all that Mother didn’t put me up to this,” Idril says. Her hair is just like hers, and tonight of all nights he cannot help but notice. But there’s wisdom, _age_ in her eyes too, as she watches him with a level sympathy, and he wonders not for the first time if Ulmo’s wreathing fogs had power more than simply to preserve.

She hesitates, interlacing her fingers in the way he knows means she’s composing her words, and continues.

“It’s my thoughts, you know, that believing that a love for one means another love’s dissolution, is a greater force for sorrow and destruction, rather than clarity and strength.”

She catches his eyes - _do you follow? do I prick at a hurt too near, too roughly?_ \- and he presses his lips together at the tug in his heart, but does not ask her to stop.

“I believe… it seems clear, father, when you have a choice between love for more than one other person, and _death_ \- ? that it’s the former that brings less evil. We aren’t _meant_ to spend all the life of Arda in the Halls, you should know that better than I, and if that is the ultimate natural consequence for loving too _much_ , the only conclusion I can come to is that it’s the law that each person can only have one partner that is the true spot of Marring.”

The closeness of Idril’s hands has become tight, as has her posture, by the time she’s finished speaking; she glances away briefly. Turgon can feel himself pulled similarly tense between affinity for her words, the conviction and passion in them, and the orthodoxy that he _knows_ , familiar and steady and comforting (broken, circumvented by his own actions even as he tried to avoid such thoughts).

He reaches out from where he’s sat, takes one of her hands in his own and manages a smile up at her. One still too sadness-laced, but he is _trying_ , trying, and that is the path toward creating truth.

“You speak well, as you always have,” he murmurs. “And I can’t truthfully tell you you’re wrong.” There are many more parts of life than the Valar knew in the Blessed days, in Turgon’s youth; it is not a heresy to think so, but theology - the world was young, and each Vala himself knew but only a portion of Iluvatar’s grand composition. Time would increase their wisdom, as it would increase that of the Children.

But his face falls somber after a moment. “It’s not only the metaphysical, though. _Can_ we all be expected to have faith that one person developing a love for another doesn’t herald the waning of her original love - ”

He breaks the question off; and his gaze at her, and the contact of their hands. Always, Idril had proved to him over and over that she could shoulder the same burdens of the mind as he did; that she was no child and he was no solitary, unbreakable Taniquetil. And always, he wished to shield her from them, even so. A habit it seems he has not dissolved.

And in response, in the side of his eye, she seems to stand straighter, taller - ruler in her own right, now, and it shows even clearer than during the latest days of Gondolin. “Has Tuor’s love for me died before his fondness for Voronwe? Or mine for him? Or perhaps you should speak to my cousin of her grief at the same thoughts.”

Her voice softens, after a moment of silence.

“Hearts can hold more than one bond without shattering under the strain, _atarinya_. Is Mother so different from your sister, your brothers; from me; from Grandfather; from Findarato? I know firsthand that a marriage of mortal and Elda is not the catastrophe that was spoken of when it was merely a hypothetical. And I wonder if the unique bond of a marriage before Eru isn’t yet a manifestation brought _about_ by the power of words and intent, and not a property existing of its own will.”

Turgon is quiet, afterwards. He knows how he _wishes_ to react, what sentiments spring immediately to mind, from the very centre of the knot of anxiety that has grown in his stomach.

It would be ill-done, if so. An argument not considered, not honest with the testimony presented to him - not honest with his daughter, for it. The wisdom of a once-king should serve, he hoped, in one’s personal responsibilities too, as well as matters of state.

“I believe I will speak with Elenwe again,” he murmurs, after some time. He takes Idril’s hands in his once more, as a smile spreads from the corners of her mouth to her eyes.

“All I want is for you to be happier for it,” she replies. He stands, kisses her forehead.

“Perhaps I might hope for it too,” he says. _Perhaps I might too_.

**Author's Note:**

> The mention of Idril's cousin is, of course, a reference to Finduilas and her conflict over Turin and Gwindor in _The Children of Hurin_. Which in this universe at least presumably has some sort of happy-ish ending where Finduilas isn't perma-dead, if she's talking to Idril about it! ....anyway *waves tiny Findu/Gwindor/Turin flag*


End file.
